It was the Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend. My husband and I were home from Ontario to spend the summer (we are misplaced Newfoundlanders). My sister called and asked me to go to the church with her to drop off her contributions in giving thanks to God for his bountiful gifts.

It was around 4 p.m. The congregation had the table laden down with everything you could mention from the harvest – vegetables, jams, bread, cakes, fish etc. After a few moments we went to the door to leave. We were heading to my sister’s grandson’s birthday party. But however hard we tried, we could not open the church door. We pushed and shoved and could only pry the door open a crack at the top, enough to push a broom handle through. We hoped someone would see the handle and come to investigate and rescue us.

We had no cellphone and we began to get cold in the church. We walked the aisles, me up one side, my sister up the other, trying to keep warm. We realized we had to figure out how to rescue ourselves. That’s when we came up with the plan to ring the church bell high in the tower.

We climbed the narrow stairs to the bell tower. (I’m claustrophobic, so I didn’t know how this would play out.) Next we had to figure out how to pull the rope with enough force to ring the heavy bell. We found a choir robe, which I wrapped around my hands to help me get a grip and Hallelujah! I pulled down on the rope.

Meanwhile, my sister got in a fit of laughter because she imagined me going up in the air as the bell came down. That me laugh, and with that I lost my strength and couldn’t pull the rope hard enough. Eventually, though, I got it right and made the bell ring. We thought for sure someone would hear the church bell and wonder who or what was making it ring on a Saturday evening. I rang the bell three more times for good measure.

We waited and waited, keeping watch through the small tower window for anyone coming near. The sun was ready to set and we were beginning to worry we’d be spending the night in the church when we spotted across from the church about to enter his house. We pressed our faces to the window and shouted as loud as we could, while rapping on the glass. “Help us! Help us, please!”

He turned and looked up. He raised his hand to his eyes, as if to be sure of what he was seeing, then began to walk towards the church. What a relief! We ran down the stairs and to the front door. We removed the broom and he was able to open the very heavy wooden door.

We made it to the birthday part in time for cake. It was a glorious end to a strange day – one that family and friends likely won’t let us forget.

As for the gentleman who rescued us, many thanks to you.

Mary and Grace (sisters)

Pools Island, NL
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